


Pretend It's Ok

by acalmingcupoftea



Category: Emma Approved
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acalmingcupoftea/pseuds/acalmingcupoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her entire life, Emma Woodhouse had only confronted failure three times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretend It's Ok

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to specialrhino for the beta. Her patience and comments made this a much better story.

In her entire life, Emma Woodhouse had only confronted failure three times. 

Her first failure was also her first business venture.She wanted to set up a hot chocolate stand. In the middle of a humid and sweltering July. 

She was seven and her father being, well, a father, and a single one to boot, told her it was a spectacular idea and encouraged her. Alex, nine at the time, completely disagreed and tried to talk her out of it.

In his campaign to dissuade her, he started with the obvious logistical hole. “How are you going to keep the hot chocolate warm?”

While this was a difficult question, Emma was not discouraged. Her father always said the path to greatness was paved with adversity. In this case, the adversity was a precocious boy in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. “...Thermoses. Lots of thermoses.”

“What are you going to serve the drinks in?” An easier question to answer.

“Mugs of course, Alex! Don’t be silly.”

“And when you run out of mugs?”

And so the interrogation continued until Alex ran out of questions to ask. Emma was glad when he finally ran out of critiques of her plan. She was exhausted from coming up with solutions off the top of her head to problems she hadn’t even considered. She poured herself a glass of celebratory lemonade for how clever she had been, dodging his questions and deciding things on the fly. Emma pulled out her bright pink “ideas” notebook, a gift from Alex for her last birthday - though she was pretty sure that his mom had helped him pick it out - and got to work designing around all the problems Mr. Alex Knightley had produced.

It took two days for her to set up the stand. The first day had been spent constructing the actual station she was going to have on the street. Mr. Woodhouse had a pile of plywood in the garage, relics from projects deemed too unsafe to continue, much to Emma’s chagrin. Convincing her father to build a treehouse for her fifth birthday had taken surprisingly little effort, so it had been very disappointing when Mr. Woodhouse happened upon the accident statistics when he was double-checking the schematics.

Clearly Mr Woodhouse still had those statistics on his mind, because once Emma designed her stand, her father was the one to actually build it. She painted it on the second day and, of course, roped Alex into helping her. 

Despite Emma thinking herself quite persuasive, Alex always let himself get roped into her schemes because, unlike his other friends, she never backed down from what she wanted to do. Luke and the other kids Alex spent his time with at school would always roll over at any of his demands. He complained to Emma about it frequently - “I just don’t get it Emma, it’s not like I _bully_ them into it.” In part he blamed his intimidating older brother - that’s what happens when your brother was in seventh grade - and in equal measure, his family’s wealth. Unlike his toadying classmates, Emma was always a challenge and she was _always_ exciting.

He left the house that afternoon with splatters of light pink and bright turquoise paint - the “it” colors of the season, he was assured - all over his clothes from their paint fights.

The following morning, her father placed the stand in front of their house, where he could keep an eye on her from the big window in the parlor - yes, Emma’s house had a parlor and a living room and even a library. Sometimes the other kids at school didn’t believe her when she mentioned them.

Emma had dug around in the back of their pantry and was surprised when she found a stash of hot chocolate mix. Not an unusual place to find hot chocolate mix but it definitely hadn’t been there when they’d checked last Christmas. Or the Christmas before that.

It wasn’t all just in her imagination, because half of the packets were expired. She tossed those away and gathered up a collection of old mugs and her thermoses of hot water to take to the stand. She sat behind the booth, smile wide - but professional, posture impeccable, and waited for her first customers, imagining them lining up the streets to purchase her wares. Everyone always wanted hot chocolate, and she was sure no one else had thought to sell any in July. She had no competitors!

To her credit, she did manage to sell three mugs of cocoa after spending almost six hours in the blistering sun that only a July day can produce in Los Angeles. 

Her father was, of course, the first customer and declared it the finest mug of cocoa he had ever had. Alex’s mother bought a mug about twenty minutes later, an event that Emma tried to rub in Alex’s face.

“See _Mr. Knightly_ , I’m going to be a great success and you’re going to be sad you weren’t a part of it.”

That was all she had to tide herself over for the next eternity - or five hours and twenty-five minutes, to be precise - when Alex walked by her stand. By that point Emma was ready to give up. She was slouched over the counter, her forehead pressed into her hands. She couldn’t even manage a smile at Alex when he cleared his throat to get her attention.

“I assume you have come to gloat.” Emma said dejectedly, the words muffled by her hands.

Alex smirked before shrugging and saying, “Is there any cocoa left?”

Emma could feel the grin on her face grow as she quickly assembled a mug of tepid cocoa. Before handing the mug to Alex, she reached under the stand and pulled out a bag of mostly melted marshmallows. She ripped open the plastic and stuck her hand into the sticky mess, pulling out the few marshmallows that had somehow retained their shape in the heat.

She plopped the deflated sweets into the mug and took the dollar Alex offered her.

“For my last customer,” Emma said, “a special treat!”

She watched him expectantly as he slowly took a sip of the cocoa. Alex’s face went from surprise to mild displeasure - his mouth opening and closing as if chewing the cocoa - before landing on his usual half smile. Emma was absolutely exhausted by the time Alex got to the dregs of the cocoa and set the mug on the table. She was too tired to do more than mutter in protest when he ruffled her hair. Boys could be really annoying and mess up a perfectly good hairstyle.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll help you take this back inside.”

As Alex picked up one end of the table, Emma smiled, proud of her day’s work.

_At least I ended on a sale._

* * *

Alex had also been around for Emma’s second failure. This one had happened in the more traditional - i.e. academic - sense. It was a 19th Century Literature class her sophomore year of college.

Alex generally tried to ignore Emma on Tuesdays. She usually texted or called him every day, several times a day. He didn’t mind the constant contact - they were best friends after all - but he tried to devote one day of the week to himself. Well, himself and balancing the books for the five sports teams he was the treasurer for. 

But after the tenth time his phone vibrated - the first three had also included the annoying chirp sound Emma had set as his text message ringtone - Alex decided that this required investigating.

He walked into Emma’s little off-campus apartment and was instantly bombarded with the warring scents of different perfumes - he could barely pick out Emma’s Chanel No. 5. The kitchen was a science experiment just waiting to happen; dishes were stacked in the sink, oatmeal crusted to bowls, take out containers _just_ to the left of the trash can.

He picked his way around the piles of sparkly tops, sorority t-shirts with catchy slogans, and shoes. So many _shoes_. Alex walked past the bathroom where one of Emma’s flatmates was singing along, off key, to a One Direction song before finally settling himself against the doorframe to Emma’s shared bedroom.

Emma lived with some of her freshman year floormates. Alex didn’t really consider Sarah, Nicole and Rachel to be good friends of Emma’s. She always put on her bright, sunny “Emma” personality when around them. She had developed it back in middle school when some of the older girls were doing...whatever it was that preteen girls did to make each other’s lives miserable. She whipped it out when she wanted people to be her friends but not know too much about her. That was most people. It wasn’t like Emma didn’t care about the girls she lived with - Emma cared about _everything_ and _everyone_ \- she had just learned that playing things close to the chest was always the better course of action. 

And as far as Alex was aware, Emma had never tried to “improve” any of their lives. This was the litmus test for being in Emma’s inner circle. If she didn’t try to change your life, you weren’t that close.

It wasn’t necessary for Emma to share an apartment and especially not a room, with anyone. Emma’s father had wanted to spare no expenses when it came to her living arrangements - as with everything else in her life, money was no issue - but Emma had insisted on getting the full college experience, messy roommates and all. Her other reason she confided to Alex alone - one couldn’t get to sixteen successful matches if she weren’t surrounded by people who were in need of some serious help. 

Notes, syllabli, folders, binders, pens, everything imaginable that a college student might need was in neat little stacks all around the room. It was lucky that Emma’s roommate was gone for the weekend or else she, too, would probably feel the wrath of Emma’s manic organizing spree.

_Of course she’s organizing_ , Alex thought as he stepped inside. Her arguments were always the same when confronted about it - “I don’t have a problem, _Mr. Knightley_. It’s just easier to do things in an organized environment!” - so he chose to keep his thoughts to himself. This time. It looked like she was under enough stress as it was.

Emma was sitting on the floor in yoga pants and a zip-up jacket. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun held in place with a bright orange mechanical pencil and - was that a _highlighter?_ She was currently taking notes out of a binder and sorting them into various stacks on her bed. 

“Look, a C on an exam isn’t _actually_ failing, Emma.” Alex said, causing Emma to stop what she was doing and turn around. Her eyes were a little puffy as if she had been crying. 

“It is when you got a D+ on your last paper and a C- on every quiz,” she said, sighing. “What am I going to _do_ , Alex? How could I have messed this up?”

Emma looked as down as Alex had ever seen her, and with good reason.She was a perfectionist to her core and had so far maintained an impressive 3.7 GPA despite having a busy social life. Getting a C on an exam, even in class she was otherwise acing, would have been unacceptable for her. Alex couldn’t imagine how she felt right now that she was actually failing.

He stepped over the obstacle course of paper stacks and crouched down next to Emma. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. Emma, who until this point had avoided looking at him directly, lifted her eyes to his.

He used the soothing tone of voice he usually reserved for scared animals and small children. “Everything is going to be fine. We can fix this. What did the professor say?”

Emma relaxed a little and paused to take a calming breath before replying, “She said I can retake the exam to try and boost my grade and if I do well on the last paper for the class, I can probably get C. Or a C+, if I’m lucky.”

Emma rolled her eyes and let out an angry breath before continuing. “All I wanted to do was read some _Frankenstein_ , maybe read a Goethe novel, like the class description said. But no, _of course_ I get the _one_ Austen obsessed professor who just wants to teach _Pride & Prejudice_ until Mr. Darcy walks right off the page and proposes marriage to her in the classroom!”

Alex chuckled at her outrage, as she continued under her breath, “ _Persuasion_ is really her best novel anyway…”

She tucked some hair that had fallen out of the bun behind her ear before saying, “Besides, I have so much to do! I have to help finish off the float for homecoming and there’s a student council meeting this week, and those _always_ run long and I have to organize Veronica and Katrina ‘accidentally’ running into each other in the library.”

Alex gave her a pointed look. One of the items on the list was less important than the others. Emma huffed and started counting off on her fingers.

“First off, everyone knows they are in love with each other. Secondly,” she said, tapping her middle finger, “they are _perfect_ for each other. And finally, it’s only going to take twenty minutes, two text messages and an unfortunate latte accident.” She crossed her arms defiantly, silently daring him to object.

Alex rubbed his hand across his face. There was no way he was going to convince her to give up her current matchmaking mission for more desperately needed study time, so he considered the options.

“Okay, if I help out with the homecoming float and if getting Kat & Veronica together is really only going to take twenty minutes, that leaves plenty of time to study,” Alex said. He’d have to shift his work schedule around and he might not go home next weekend, but he was confident he could make it work.

Emma beamed at him and then, in an act that surprised even Alex, threw her arms around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Emma said, already pulling away and looking off into the distance. “I can do this. I am Emma Woodhouse!” She slapped her hands on her thighs for emphasis.

“Take it easy, there.” Alex said, picking up a study guide at random. “Let’s try the first chapter.”

In the end, all it took was three soy venti lattes, two drafts of her final paper wrought of her sweat and tears and one well-placed wink for Emma to screech by with a C- in the class.

* * * 

Emma’s third failure was her most spectacular by far, and even she, the queen of optimism, was having trouble putting a positive spin on it. This was the first time her choices had impacted anyone in a negative way. Any mistake she had made in the past had only hurt herself, but this time she had brought two other people into the line of fire, and it wasn’t sitting well with her. Alex had tried to warn her this would happen. Why hadn’t she listened to him?

In the end she was angry at herself. How could she have misread Elton’s intentions? How could she have convinced Harriet to give her precious feelings to that...skeeze? 

It was unprofessional to cry in her office, but the tears started coming and wouldn’t stop, even when she heard Alex come into the room. In fact, they only increased. He was always there to pick her up when she stumbled, but this time, she felt like she didn’t deserve it. She had been so foolish and stubborn and she had pushed him out of a decision - a decision about _their_ business - when he had been trying to help her.

He made some off-hand remark about closing the books because Maddie Bates had made him feel guilty when Emma heard the soft squeaking of his shoes stop and rustle of his clothes as he sat down on the bench next to her.

“What’s happening?”

She didn’t trust her voice enough to answer. Maybe if she stayed quiet he’d leave her alone to wallow in this catastrophe. 

Instead he persisted, “C’mon Emma, what’s wrong? You’re organizing.”

Emma took a breath and wiped a tear from her eye, trying to pull herself together.

“I failed,” she said matter-of-factly. Her voice only trembled a little, a small victory.

There was silence before she heard Alex’s mumbled “Hey,” and when his arm slid around her, the feelings of shame and embarrassment came flooding back, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

In moments like this, she acutely felt how lucky she was to have Alex as a friend. He was always there for her, always willing to listen to her side of the story. He never gloated when he was right, even when Emma deserved it, like now.

He encircled her with his arms, embracing her tightly and she let herself lean into him. He murmured soothing nonsense in her ear, trying to make her laugh, all the while absently stroking her arm. While Emma couldn’t drag her mind away from the mess _she_ had created, she felt herself calming down regardless. 

Emma could tell that his body position was uncomfortable, hunched over her, her head tucked under his but he made no move to shift her away. Slowly, after what felt like ages, her cheeks were dry and her breathing quieted down. He slid his hand under her chin, lifting her head up from the crook of his shoulder to look him in the eyes.

He stilled for a moment, just looking at her, before he said, softly, “Everything is going to be alright.”

She almost believed him.


End file.
